Overlappings
by eightfifty
Summary: Three girls have been murdered and one's missing. Will the team get to her in time? Rated T for possible content. Also, I promise the story is better than the summary. I'm horrible at summaries. Set around season two.
1. Chapter 1

Her name had been lost somewhere in the depths of the dark room, pushed to the back of her mind when her lack of identity became less important than her lack of proper nutrition. The sound of her sobs, too, had been lost in her throat. She had forgotten entirely, the color of her own eyes, the length of her hair, and the name that had been lost. She had lost many other things along the way, some of the things she didn't like to think about. She had long forgotten what daylight looked like, and it seemed like years since she had smiled.

The truth was, though, that she had only been there, in her little room, for a month and a half. During that month and a half she had been fed all sorts of drugs, had her mind altered in every way she could think of, and learned to count to about six thousand four hundred and ninety three. She had, in her subconscious, set a goal to count far past that, and keep counting until whenever she was rescued. If she was ever rescued.

She had almost forgotten her captor, too. She received food everyday, although, she almost never ate it. Dying would be better than this, she thought. Though, she didn't really want to think of what might happen to her body. Actually, she already knew what would happen; she seen it happen to the other girl.

•••

The three agents sat at their desks, waiting for something other than paperwork. Hopefully not a body, but definitely not paperwork. Only one of the three truly did not mind the paperwork, as he could get through it much faster and perhaps better than the others. This, though, earned him a fair amount of the others' paperwork as well. It wasn't that he exactly enjoyed paper work, he just didn't mind it.

The only female of the three sat, hunched over the desk just as the others were. Her raven hair fell around the papers as her pen glided along the lines. She had been thinking lately, as many people around her had, about the very smart young man that had taken about a fourth of her paperwork. She had grown very fond of him, just as she had grown close with every member of her team in the short amount of time that she had known them. She would've liked to have thought of herself as part of their family, which she knew they considered themselves, but she could see that she would have to earn her place, and prove that she could keep it. Her spot had been previously taken, so she had heard, by a young woman who just couldn't take it anymore. She could understand that. What she didn't understand was why she had given up the team.

None of the members of the Behavioral Analysis Unit were naive, that was obvious, but none of them were very trusting either. Perhaps the least trusting of them being the last of our three lovely agents sitting at their desks. He had spent his young life hiding from the things he didn't want to talk about, learning to keep them from happening again. But nothing can heal the scars left when someone you trust cuts you deeply. The things that didn't need to be said, were left unsaid. This was, undeniably, not true for all the playful banter exchanged between himself and the colleagues whom allowed it to take place and even participated.

And, of course, just as the three of them started to have hope for a weekend, their ever lovable, and not-so timely, media liaison walked through their midst holding a file high above her head. The group followed, suppressing disappointed sighs and complaints about their weekend plans. They, of course, were not bitter about their jobs, and they did not consider it a service. What they did helped people, not only the victims they were able to save, but the families who deserved closure. Around the table they sat, a tall, professional-looking man walked to his own seat, followed by another rather professional-looking man who took a seat next to the young genius.

The blonde re-entered the room after retrieving the two men, and waited while another, larger, blonde woman connected a large-screened tablet to the board. The pictures that lit up the board now bordered on gruesome, but had no effect on the members of the team. They had seen far worse, some not of their own accord. The girl on the screen lay on the side of the road, limbs splayed in an unnatural array of flesh. Her blonde hair was another thing that didn't look natural. Her hair was quite obviously recently bleached, and since she had been reported missing over three months prior to her death, it had been dyed after she'd been taken. Next to the pictures of her body were pictures of two other bodies laid just like her's and driver's license photos under each of those.

"Three teenaged girls, all blonde, abducted from public places in the South Park area." The liaison's voice was strong, betraying the discomfort she so wished to share with someone. "Chips of cement found under their fingernails along with chlorine. The medical examiner says cause of death is oxycodone overdose. Signs of sexual assault."

"Held for three months each. Looks like the kidnappings and the murders overlap though," the second professional-looking man, Gideon, interjected.

The first professional-looking man, Aaron Hotcher, more commonly known as Hotch, looked at his phone. His concern for the case, as with every case, was apparent, though to the people who knew him best, the people around him, something was obviously wrong. He looked up at his team and dismissed them to get their bags. "Wheels up in twenty."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note:**

**Guys, I hate to sound bitchy but... Can I get some reviews? I was actually scared not a lot of people liked it and I've been a little reluctant to post this chapter. I'll take any type of criticism as long as it's constructive. Anyways, thanks for the people who favorited!**

* * *

"Beauty of whatever kind, in its supreme development, invariably excites the sensitive soul to tears."

― Edgar Allan Poe

She had yet again begun to think of her name, and this time, too, of her own mind and soul. If one person were to commit such an act as to tear someone from everything they knew, and place them where all the things they had learned, every night they spent awake and thinking, planning the most important days of their impending lives meant absolutely nothing, and where the days stretched so far into the nights that they didn't know if their own birthday had passed, how could she expect herself to have any type of humanity being of the same world as such a person? She had, by this time, counted past her previous best of only six thousand four hundred and ninety three, and pushed it up to six thousand five hundred thirty six. That, too, seemed inhuman to her.

Out of the distance, which seemed farther then than it should've, came an all too familiar raspy voice: "Beautiful."

•••

"Melissa Wood, seventeen. Hailey Baker, sixteen. Both taken, raped, and murdered over the course of three months. Jaina Moore, fourteen, and Frankie Ellis, seventeen, currently missing persons."

"Says here Frankie had been staying at the Baker family home for almost a year when the two of them were taken from the local grocery store."

"He takes them from a public area, somewhere they live close to. Maybe he knows them?" Derek suggested.

"Three months earlier Melissa Wood went missing. Her body was found four days after Hailey and Frankie were taken." JJ added.

Hotch breathed deeply. "Morgan and Prentiss, you'll go speak with the Baker family about Frankie and Hailey, see if anything was wrong with somebody at school or home. Reid, you make a trip up to the coroner's. JJ, you'll head up to the Wood family home. I'll talk to the latest victim's family." His voice was the same stern tone they were used to, but a little distracted.

The team really hoped they already knew what it was, and their thought was of course the rather obvious hope that Jack had simply been having a tough time sleeping or something even simpler.

"Is that," Emily leaned into the picture. "Lipstick?"

"They were found with their makeup recently done, but there were no prints in the makeup. He probably didn't touch them after it was applied." JJ confirmed.

•••

Elena Baker was a small, fragile woman. Her heart, though, since her daughters' deaths, was the most fragile part of her. She knew that Frankie wasn't her real daughter. She knew that Frankie knew that too. But she also knew that Hailey and Frankie were as good as sisters. Thick as thieves. And thieves would have been an accurate description of the two.

The girls had been brought back to the house by police many times, shoplifting on all accounts. They had stolen—well, tried to steal—things like lip gloss and other girly things. Out of nineteen clothing stores in the local mall, they had been banned from twelve. This was actually rather ironic, seeing as they worked in the food court of the very same mall.

The girls worked in separate stations in the food court, each of them growing friendly with separate regulars. While Hailey walked in circles around the pretzel stand, Frankie stood her post at the café. They both enjoyed their jobs, and the people they met there, even if it meant that they had to be apart for hours at a time. They were apart, of course, when they slept, too. Well, when Hailey slept.

Frankie had always had trouble sleeping. It was, by this time, very normal for her to sleep only two hours on the average night. She occupied her time other ways, though. She wrote in her journal or read her latest obsession in books. The most recent book the had stuck her fancy was, in fact, rather fitting for the situation. She had taken to the book The Stranger Beside Me, by Ann Rule. The book was, as the members of the BAU would know, a very detailed account of the relationship between Ted Bundy and a relatively close friend.

Hailey's room was a vibrant pink-orange mixture. Her bed was surrounded by magazines and empty bottles and containers of Fanta and tic-tacs. The bedding matched the wall in hue, but a lower, dimmer shade of pretty pink. The bed was unmade, with the sheet mussed and the pillow wrinkled. Dry blue nail polish colored parts of the white headboard. Nothing seemed out of place, until he noticed something on the carpet near the window. Burns. From a cigarette.

This was nothing compared to the secrets Emily had found in Frankie's room. The room was a light purple color, the bedding black and white. The purple carpet was burned, too, in several places. But that wasn't what caught her attention. It wasn't, either, the empty coffee mugs, piles of books, or the neat closet that was yet again, full of books. What caught her eye was where the mattress lifted off the box spring. There was something under there. When she lifted the mattress, she found exactly what she'd hoped to.

A diary. No, there was more than one. Six or so, and that was just what wasn't hidden in said piles of books. The girl's handwriting was small and rather messy, but Emily knew who to call.

•••

The coroner didn't tell him anything that was very surprising, but everything he could get was taken. The girls were starved. Well, actually, with all the care the UNSUB took with the bodies, food was most likely offered. Spencer had been expecting a call for some time now, rather, he had been waiting for one. He had been hoping somebody would call, that somebody would distract him from the bodies of the girls they couldn't possibly have saved.

"Reid, you up for a little reading?" Emily asked.

"What?" He was, no doubt, very confused.

"Frankie. She has about, I'd say maybe thirteen journals. Probably go back a couple of years."

"And you want me to read them?" He paused. "You owe me."

He could hear the smile in her voice when she said goodbye, and it was a good enough distraction to let him leave this place.

•••

"Did Melissa ever tell you about something going on at school or with her friends, maybe she felt like she was being followed?" JJ asked softly.

"No, I don't think so. She told her friends everything, but I never heard about any of it." She sighed. "Maybe you could talk to some of her friends?"

"All I need are some names," JJ said, hoping, as she always did, that keeping her voice a calm, strong tone would help them stay strong, too.

"Well, she had lots of friends. Most of her friends were her age. But," she paused. "She did have older friends that bought her cigarettes. She thought I didn't know, but she also thought it made her cool. I didn't want to make her feel bad, you know?"

"If you could just write somme of them down," JJ handed her a note pad.

The names she wrote were nothing if not helpful.

_Frankie Ellis_

_Alex Marcus_

_Hailey Baker_

_Melissa Wood_

_Jeremy Vaughn_


	3. Chapter 3

Meanwhile, fears of universal disaster sank to an all time low over the world.

—Isaac Asimov

"We're ready."

•••

"We're looking for a white man in his mid-twenties to early thirties."

"He's strong, both physically and mentally."

"He won't insert himself into the investigation, but he'll definitely be watching it."

"Be looking for someone who might hang out around the stores. He'll look like someone you can trust, somebody the girls would've been able to ask for a favor."

"We believe he gets close to them by fueling their addictions. Buying cigarettes and alcohol for them."

"Watch out for how he looks at them. He'd watch them, probably look at them like objects or relics."

"When we do find him, watch how he reacts when you talk about the girls. He might call one of them 'it.'"

•••

Jeremy Vaughn was a tall, lean boy. Dark circles around his eyes showed that he shared a common problem with Frankie. His red hair mussed as he ran yet again from the angry store owner. Not only was this an angry store owner, but his very own angry father. His focus was entirely on running, leaving no room for him to notice the black van parked near his door.

"Jeremy Vaughn!" He stopped and looked at the rather professional-looking man who'd called his name.

Yes, this is what almost everyone who saw SSA Aaron Hotchner thought the very first time they saw him. It was no surprise that Jeremy would, too, when he turned and raised his hands in the air. This would seem rather odd, that he'd immediate response to his name being called would be to put his hands up, if, like you have, you'd been deprived of one detail. When Jeremy had run outside almost at the same time that a federal-looking vehicle had pulled into his driveway, Hotch assumed that Jeremy was running from he, and had raised his gun.

"What's this about?" Jeremy swallowed.

•••

The concrete walls scared Jeremy, made him think he'd done more wrong than they thought he did. He'd never been in an interrogation room, but every time someone asked him his name, it felt like an interrogation. This was another thing he shared with Frankie. They were very private people, and really only shared things with each other. The things they shared with each other were not to be told to anyone, even if it meant saving one of their lives. Frankie had made this rule. "Look," he pleaded. "I don't know what this is about." He looked directly at the window that most people in an interrogation forgot was there, and forgot wasn't a mirror on the other side. "Is everything okay?" He asked when someone finally came in. That person, of course, was one Jason Gideon. "Is Frankie okay? Did you find her?" The man, Gideon, failed to answer his questions or even introduce himself as he sat down in silence. "Is she okay? And Jaina, Jaina too? I don't know her very well, but please say she's okay."

"We don't know." Hotch said as he walked in. "We were hoping you would help us find that out."

"What can I do?" He asked softly.

Hotch gave him that look. Yes, that look, the one that anyone who'd known him for any serious purpose would have seen. "You can tell us more about her."

His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He had promised not to tell them anything, but if they'd seen her backpack they would know already, right? They would have seen... Agent Hotchner stepped out of the room holding his phone to his ear.

"What kinds of things did Frankie keep in her backpack?"

He swallowed. What was he supposed to tell them? He couldn't tell them the truth. Even if it meant saving each other's lives, they weren't supposed to share anything. "Whatd'you wanna know?"

Gideon leaned in and finally spoke. "Everything."

•••

_What's my name?_

_My name._

_Francis Elizabeth Ellis._

_Frankie. My name is Frankie. I'm seventeen years old, and I live with Hailey Baker's family. Hailey._

_Where's Hailey? Is she okay? And Jeremy's other friend. Jane? Jaina? Yeah. Where is she? Is she hurt?_

"Jaina?" She called out softly. "Jaina?"

She was greeted with a quiet whimper from the other side of the dark room. There was a sound like metal against concrete, and she assumed the other girl was turning over.

"Jaina where are you?" She asked, louder this time.

"Wall," the girl murmured. "Cold."

"I'm coming over to you, okay?" Frankie tried to move, but found that her leg wouldn't budge on its own. She slid her hand under her limp right leg and lifted it, squeezing her eyes shut tight. It hurt. It hurt so bad that she didn't even want to try it anymore, but she did. That was another thing about her; she had an extreme tolerance for pain. She felt along the cold floor with her other hand until she felt fabric. No, leather. It was leather, a purse. A purse! "Jaina what do you have in your purse?"

Jaina blinked at least four times before she answered, hoping that the light would make its way to her eyes. "Tic-tacs, a bottle of water, lighter, Ja— that's it."

"What else Jaina?"

"Jack Daniels. That's," she paused. "I think that's why I'm here."

Frankie sighed, then remembered her own bag. She pulled it over by the long strap and opened it up. As she searched through the books and things, a familiar yellow caught her eye. She punched the tin with her fingernail and dug out two of the small yellow tablets. "Here, swallow this. Don't chew it." She dropped one of them into the other girl's hand.

•••

"Look, I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but, do you really think it'll help you find her?" Jeremy looked at the table, avoiding eye contact with the agents at all costs.

"Absolutely."

He sighed. "Frankie, she couldn't sleep. Well, she couldn't dream. She always said something, took it right out of some sci-fi book. Asimov, I think. Something about dreamless sleep being just like sitting on the couch. She took these little yellow pills. They made her dizzy sometimes, I know she didn't like to take them alone."

"So she came to you?"

He nodded. "I never did them though, and I couldn't talk her out of taking them. She tried really hard to stop taking them, but you know how that can be. She's a good girl. She doesn't deserve this."

"Did Frankie ever come to you for more than just support?"

"Wh—" he shook his head. "No. No I would never touch her. She's so young, and, and, and she doesn't even like guys anyways!" He hit his head on the table. _I'm so stupid. So, so stupid. Even if it'll save one of our lives! She didn't come to me crying just so I could tell the FBI. But, I mean, what's wrong with her? Nothing. She just doesn't find anyone attractive. She said herself that she could love anybody. She's such a good girl._

"What's that?"

He sighed again and brought his head up. "She's not like that; she doesn't like anybody like that. I mean, she loves everybody, but not like that." He saw the way the agents looked at him. "This won't help you! Look, you should be searching for her. You should be out there getting her back and bringing her home where she belongs. Not with the Baker's either. With me. She always wanted to come live with Ann and I. You know I never even considered letting her actually come live with us. But now," he shook his head again. "Now, I'd do anything."

"How old are you, Jeremy?"

"I'm twenty-one sir." He, again, kept his eyes on the table.

•••

_June 16, 2006_

One week before she went missing.

Though, the journals didn't appear to be diaries as Emily had originally thought. They were notes. On psychology.

_Phobias: an intense, recurrent, unreasonable fear of a specific object or situation which leads to avoidance of the object or situation_

_Simple Phobias (relatively rare) - an isolated fear of a single object or situation that results in avoidance_

_miscellaneous category comprising irrational fears that don't fall under any other category. For example - claustrophobia _

_Social Phobias - characterized by fear and embarrassment in dealings with others. Often the fear is that their anxiety will be seen by others._

_Examples: public speaking, eating in public, interpersonal relationship fears (asserting one's self, criticism, making a mistake, etc)._

This didn't fit everything else in her actual diary would've pointed to the fact that she could've remembered this without writing it down. Is seemed that she only took notes in two classes. Abnormal Psychology and Behavioral Sciences. Her Behavioral Sciences notes went as follows:

**_A._**_ Inherited behavioral patterns (independent of experience of animal) - expressed in their entirety _

_first time they appear, without practice or experience. _

_some inherited behaviors are further modified by experience (i.e. practice) or physical _

_development. _

_in some instances (e.g. in hybrid animals), behavioral patterns (called fixed action patterns) are maintained even without their functional consequences. _

_in humans, certain movements are independent of experience: _

_1) Moro's reflex (phylogenetic remnant of movements used by subhuman primate infants to cling to their mothers). _

_2) smiling accompanied by direct gaze (occurs even in blind infants). _

_3) locomotion (innate behavior that is modified by both practice and physical _

_development). _

**_B._**_ Learned behavioral patterns (dependent on experience - are learned over time) - increasingly larger part of behavioral repertoire in phylogenetically higher animals (particularly mammals). _

_advantage - greater ability to adapt to changing environmental conditions and novel situations. _

_disadvantage - increased period of dependency of infant while behavioral repertoire is acquired _

_(i.e. greater amount of time spent by parents in offspring rearing → smaller number of offspring[lower reproductive rate]). _

And then they stopped. She'd had no time to take any more notes. In truth, Frankie was not normal. She had graduated her high school at fourteen, and then set off for college immediately. She had a plan for her future, either to work with the FBI or social services. His job was to make sure she got to do those things.


End file.
